


Life of Lunette: formerly of Kvatch, subsequently Nerevarine, saviour or terror of Morrowind

by nostalgic_breton_girl



Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Morrowind: Bloodmoon
Genre: Bloodmoon, East Empire Company, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24096139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgic_breton_girl/pseuds/nostalgic_breton_girl
Summary: My name is Lunette: I suppose you can have that. - You may know me as the Nerevarine, more even than I know myself as such. - It is this important role which persuaded me to write my life story, from that event which instigated my arrest and transport to Morrowind, to the present moment, in which I still wrestle with my own identity, and with the intentions I have, remaining in this extraordinary province.
Relationships: Female Nerevarine/Apronia Alfena, Female Nerevarine/Falco Galenus
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

Perhaps you are a fool to expect a political discourse from me; and perhaps I am a fool, to think I can write untainted narrative. It may be said that all narrative is political, in the loosest possible sense: that I write with a purpose, spoken or unspoken, conscious or unconscious; that I am an individual, within a system, with a point of view, and that nothing I, or anyone else, may write can ever be unbiased. To this I add: my intent, whatever it may be, is unknown to me, save that the process of writing shall perhaps allow me to make better sense of a bizarre series of circumstances.

Who am I, who would surprise an audience with a simple narrative? – Why, I am the saviour of, or the stain upon, Morrowind for years – centuries – to come; – I am the Nerevarine, but not only; – I have, if I may put it as crudely as did a certain person of high authority, tainted so many pies with my erring finger, that one might do better to make an entirely fresh batch. – This being said, I feel, both in consciousness of my political dealings, and with some nod towards my more private ones.

My name is Lunette: I suppose you can have that. It is no unusual name, nor is it the one by which most know me, but it is my one constancy, in this bewildering life. Before anything really happened, I was known solely by it, or by the absence of a name... I was Lunette, Lunette of Kvatch if I was being facetious, and I was a member of the very basest of the classes, and of the Guild of Thieves.

The reader, if there is one, might be astounded to hear tell of such a Guild. It is widely believed that such a thing does not – cannot – exist. I will not betray our secrets, I shall say only that we are present, omnipresent, and often where you least expect it. The secrets of the Kvatch guild-branch, I suppose, may be revealed, now that Kvatch is gone...

There was, beyond the other guild-halls, at the back of the city, where the casual observer never ventures, and the local actively avoids, a house, a darling little house, our shelter. It was of the same stone as the rest of the city, and objectively was just as beautiful as any of the other buildings, more so, indeed, for its graffiti, for its endearing shabbiness, for the little spray of potted plants that Jenelle kept on the porch... There was nothing affected about our guild-hall, we just adorned it with what we could afford to make it feel like home, and so ours was quite the best and most heartfelt of them.

Jenelle was our leader, of sorts, and also a maternal figure to those of us who had never known any family. It is to my shame and regret that I never valued her as much as I ought to have done. I rebelled, I was a natural rebel, and though one may not believe it now, if one knows me, I saw even her rules, and those of the Guild of Thieves, as mutable, as something not quite solid. I confused wanting to be my own person with not adhering to any kind of society, save my own, and it is this which landed me in trouble.

I had my own values, if one might call _values_ , a devotion of my life to the destruction of inequality, and a deep-seated hatred of the Empire, the monarchy, and the rich. It was those things which I perceived as the barriers to my fulfilment, and to that of my fellows. Certainly in many ways I was correct. The way I went about rectifying the situation, perhaps was not. Jenelle was one of those people who believed that small actions build a greater whole, as long as they are persistent: a good deal around her believed that. I remember there was among them a girl named Marianne, who has of late gone into the Imperial Cult, presumably in the conviction that small acts of kindness, that donations, that a steady dribbling of altruism will create immense change, largely because such things have the favour of the gods behind them.

I do not quite know what I believe, at this present moment, save that: to solve the problems of society does not require a single philosophy, a single method: society is far more complicated than that, and the very notion of a single solution, or type of solution, is ludicrous. That was not what I believed back then, however: my conviction was that society was so far gone, that only a revolution stood any chance of changing anything.

A revolution, then!...

There was at that time a certain group who promised such a thing. I am yet sworn to secrecy as to their identity and full projects, and so I shall not reveal it. All you need know is that I was won over by their initial promise: that their intention was to overthrow the monarchy, call for change, do something more active and more determined than any previous attempt. And Divines, they were convincing... They knew so much about the Emperor, about his movements; they knew the Imperial City like the back of their hand; they seemed well-connected, well-informed. They were too much so, I realise in hindsight.

I do not know if I was too naïve to see it, or if they for some hidden motive kept it from me, but their real intention was an almost meticulously planned assassination of the Emperor. I say _almost_ , because quite evidently it did not succeed, but the spanner must have been thrown askew into the works, because somehow I of all people was the first conspirator named and arrested.

It is very uncommon for a member of the Guild of Thieves to be arrested for treason, and my first fear was that, if I should be released from prison, then I should be shunned by the Guild. Such a thought astounded me, at first: I had never consciously placed any strong loyalty with the Guild. But I wished I had stayed within their protection, within their boundaries, that night, that night in prison...

I did not think, even then, that anything could be worse than the loss of one’s liberty. I did not sleep that night, not because I was nervous about my imminent trial, but because I was trapped, the walls were close about me, and I could not let my mind wander any more than I could my feet. Imagine that closeness that gathers on the eve of a storm, and multiply it threefold: its clammy fingers, its unbearable inevitability, its constant presence, and you have my first night in prison. – Certainly it was not my last, but I cannot say that I ever found it less unbearable.

I was to be interrogated the very next day, and eventually that thought overtook all others. What might I say in my defence, I who had willingly participated in the venture? They would not believe me, if I had said I did not mean for the Emperor to die. I had been willing enough to see him overthrown, to sow the seeds of imperial chaos, and that, to them, was about the same thing. I wondered if I might lie, if I might plead my innocence, or if that might backfire, if I should be found out for lying, and perjury be added to my increasing list of crimes. I wondered if they knew about my former involvement with the Guild of Thieves...

If I spent the early hours of that morning trying to decide how best to mitigate my situation, it is because I had, too late, realised its looming implications. I had been so preoccupied with my claustrophobic cell, that I had failed to recall the true punishment that awaited traitors, which is to say, death.

The Empire does not flaunt its use of capital punishment. I suppose that it would taint the flawless architecture and the spotless atmosphere of the Imperial City, if public executions were routine; and at a pinch, it might taint the very Empire, if they became overly associated with the swift destruction of even their least devoted opponents. It is true, we know it is true, that the Empire puts traitors to death; it would not do for that to be their crowning achievement, it must be merely that niggling deterrent, which is more threatening for being heard about far more than it is seen. Oh! the Empire’s dark subtlety is almost brilliant, I will give them that.

I had known all of this before, and thought on it, always with that degree of removal that comes from unapplied philosophy. It is one thing to be aware that traitors are executed. It is quite another to writhe in captivity as you await your own execution.

I did not want to die!...

Was I hypocritical, to prefer the limits of life to the potential freedom of death? Perhaps. Every one of us is a hypocrite, when faced with that great unknown. I can but hope that I may be forgiven my hypocrisy, that morning, when I heard the rain pattering on the walls outside, and trembled as I mistook it for approaching footsteps, as I awaited my hour of doom; that morning, when I truly believed that my life was over, after but twenty-four pathetic years...

I was twenty-four, and naïve, I did not know what I had done, what I had stumbled into: that would be my only defence, and it was the one which I prepared, as I was led at last to my fate.

I was surprised, then, to discover that this defence was not solely mine: to see, on entering, four people whom I recognised as my former accomplices, similarly captured, similarly on trial – and who, I learnt very quickly, had pleaded my own innocence, or rather, insisted upon the lessening of my punishment. They knew that it was not I who had ratted on them, and this was my reward, now that they were captives anyway: that I should be set apart from them, that I did not belong quite alongside them, that I had been naïve, and misunderstood, and should not be sentenced to death, at twenty-four, for a crime I had scarcely committed...

They begged the jurors, they spoke out of turn, to defend my poor self. I did not think they would succeed, but Divines! if my heart didn’t shatter, when I saw how earnest they were, when I saw that they, too, recognised the mistakes they had made, in taking me into their little circle, and never telling me straight what their intentions were. I did not know if it would make a similar effect on our judges. But I was haggard, and I felt smaller even than I was, in the dock; I knew I must have been a sight, that perhaps I looked like a mere frightened child. Yes: it was surely that which prompted their leniency. I do not see otherwise why they might have acted as they did, in giving their final judgement.

My four accomplices were sentenced to death. I shall not hide that, I want their memory to last, I know that the world will see them as terrible criminals, as traitors, but I cannot forget what they did for me... I do not know when they were executed, I suspect it was soon afterwards, and I hope that, in death, they were granted the peace and the freedom that they had, in their warped fashion, hoped to achieve with their schemes in life. I cannot forget their faces, I shall not; nor shall I forget their names, though I dare not speak them here.

So they perished, and I was granted leniency. I say leniency: but this is the Empire we are talking about, and _leniency_ was here understood as _cruel irony_. I was told that I would be sentenced to hard labour, and I at length came to realise that they as well as I saw this almost as a fate worse than death, where I was concerned. If I was to survive, then I must suffer it as much as possible. I was a traitor, after all...

They took me across Cyrodiil, by cart; over the border, at last, to Morrowind; they did not stop, continued northwards, to the sea, and there I was bundled onto a boat, and put out to sea, to some remote port, which I did not know. – I do not quite know, to this day, how long I spent on this journey: one loses track of time, when one can hardly sleep by night, and by day is in a haze of semi-darkness, and repetition. I can scarcely tell the difference between the recollection of the cart and of the boat, save that on the sea-voyage I was not alone in my captivity, I perceived the voices of other people through the walls, and was told that I had fellow-prisoners. – These were also people who had been sentenced to hard labour: but their crimes were likely different from mine, I doubted that so many would have had the supposed fortune to survive being branded a traitor.

We must have been in the ship several days, before the name of our destination began to emerge from our captors’ mouths, and trickle down to us: that of Solstheim. – I did not know in the least what Solstheim was, then. For the benefit of the reader who may similarly not know, I will say: Solstheim is an island to the north of Morrowind, and a little way off Skyrim, more desolate even than the remotest parts of these provinces. It is often left off maps, likely because it was previously so insignificant that it did not merit inclusion, or indeed was not known about by the cartographer. It is said that one can see it from the Morrowind coast. Certainly it is difficult, even if one knows where to look.

I did not know the name of Solstheim, at the time: I knew it sounded Nordic, I thought perhaps it was a part of Skyrim. I knew nothing of Skyrim, save that it was cold and miserable. That must have been true, for it was what even the emigrant Nords claimed. It was not a reassuring prospect.

It might have been a week, before land was sighted, and we were at last allowed on deck. That moment I remember vividly, a tentative liberty: tentative, and soon disappointed. My legs were weak, from scarcely moving; my eyes surprised at the brightness, at the banking white clouds; and when I emerged fully, I was torn to the bone by a biting wind, that I regretted any thoughts of freedom, and wanted nothing more than to be inside again. – I fought that notion, forced myself out. – Oh! but there was nothing, nothing save the ship, nothing, out at sea, I did not know what land they had seen, it was beyond my line of sight, all was grey and dismal.

‘Solstheim, over there,’ said a gruff-voiced sailor, and picked out a fantasy, perhaps, in the snow-clouds...

I went cautiously to the edge of the deck, leaned over the railing, pitied myself, and this situation in which I was trapped. Would I be better off, if I cast myself into the freezing sea? Its darkening depths held no more secrets than my own future, and no more dismay...

I felt someone at my arm, recoiled. A different sailor, fresh-faced, naïve, reassuring me as best he could, though there were actual icicles within his fledgling beard:

‘Oh!’ said he – ‘you look perfectly dismal: but it is not all bad, on Solstheim.’

‘Have you been?’ said I, reluctant.

‘Spent three months at Frostmoth, when it was first built – you get used to the island, and it gets used to you. Very pretty. Cold, but you get used to it. I am sure it will not be as bad as you think.’

‘I cannot even see it, in this fog...’ I murmured.

‘Then you are seeing as fog,’ said he: ‘the shape of the island – see, it is a little darker, it fills half the horizon now, can you see it?’

Certainly he was being optimistic: it was there, but it was scarcely a shadow. – Yet it was land, we were nearly there, that was Solstheim, that would become my home. – Can a forced home ever be a true home? would I ever see it as such? – Oh! I did not know what to think, as we approached, save that I would have taken almost anything, over this fate. The reassurance at my side left me, apparently satisfied; I froze my hands upon the railing, clutching it, watching the island approach.

Solstheim, then!...

Solstheim, then, and the first part of my journey...


	2. Chapter 2

The Imperials first landed on Solstheim several years ago now: and that they found it inhabited did not in the least halt their ambitions of conquest. It has been inhabited for generations by a small number of Nords – not like those whom we know from Skyrim: offshoots, ancestors perhaps, the Skaal and their kin. They live in the north of the island, sometimes venturing from their settlements, and swearing by a religious Oneness with, and respect for, nature, which is particularly admirable, when one lives among some of the most fearsome nature in all Tamriel. These ideas of Oneness and respect are, however, perfectly alien to the Imperials, and so the latter built themselves a fort, and began to pillage the land of its riches, as they have everywhere else. It is supposed to be to their credit that they have left the Skaal anything at all.

The fort which they built is named Frostmoth, in the vein of their Morrowind outposts, and stands on the southern coast of the island: it is this fort which at last emerged from the mists, after several excruciating hours spent watching the hazy cliffs draw slowly nearer. Upon sighting it, the men began to prepare to dock, and insisted that we prisoners be returned to our effective cells, below deck. Whether this was to keep us from prematurely departing, or merely to uphold the ship’s image, I do not know.

Leastways, when the ship at last came to a halt, I was curled up in my cabin – scarcely a cabin: a cupboard – and hadn’t the least idea what formalities passed between our crew and the men at the fort. Rather, I spent that time in hastened contemplation. I did not know what was going to become of us. Were we to work at the fort? I found myself doubting that they would place us so near to the docks, even if boats were hard to come by. There must be some Imperial exploitation elsewhere on the island, out in the apparent wilderness. It did not reassure me in the slightest.

At last somebody came to let us out: the same naïve sailor as earlier, who was so infuriatingly chipper that I should almost rather have been greeted by my executioner.

‘I hope you are well,’ said he: ‘that you have not suffered too much, from the voyage. You are all to follow me, and meet Carnius Magius on deck. – He is to be your boss, from here on in: it will be useful for you to get to know him. – Oh! don’t look so dismal, he will not bite.’

He had, of course, quite misinterpreted us, but it was some comfort for us to exchange glances, and understand each other, where he had not. After some shuffling, we opted to follow him.

There was not so much wind at the dock as there had been at sea, but the air was still cold, cold and damp. I was painfully, literally aware of my ragged clothes. The men on deck were all done up in armour, and I envied them; it was something of a surprise, then, to see a man in a suit among them, and who was shivering, despite that he was clutching his jacket close about his chest. This was the Carnius Magius who had been mentioned, and we were all led to him.

I do not know if I had hoped for anything more than what he was: the suit had been the first sign, and the rest was not reassuring. Carnius Magius was one of those men who thinks he is important, and has a position of importance, indeed, but who has in fact done nothing in his life to merit such an appellation. It showed in his stance, of empty status; it showed in his face, which was pompous and arrogant, but scarcely lined, despite his forty or so years. That and the unstained suit did not make for a good impression, at least not on me. This was what I had imagined all Imperialists to be like. This was too close to what I had imagined Carnius Magius to be like, before I had met him, before even I had heard of the notion of him.

‘My name is Carnius Magius,’ said he, in a voice to match the demeanour: ‘I am the local Factor of the East Empire Company. It was not my idea to have prisoners working our mine. But we are very short-staffed, and you will more than suffice. All that matters is that we find ebony, and lots of it. – Ultimately it is me to whom you report, but, as I do not expect you to venture beyond the limits of Raven Rock, your contact will be Falco Galenus, to whom you will be introduced at the site.’

Imperials have a tendency to waffle: Carnius Magius was at least reasonably laconic, though his voice dripped with the temptation to say something far less polite. Certainly he did not look upon us favourably. If he was disinclined to approve of prisoners, it was perhaps because we were not pristine, because we stood before him in all our raw reality, in rags.

‘If you step out of line,’ he went on, ‘you will be at once returned to the law. It is not on me to make decisions in that regard. But I would remind you to remember who wields the power here. – Falco will tell you more of the ropes, when you reach Raven Rock. I have said enough, and it is getting cold. – Very well, then: you work for the East Empire Company, you answer to me, and I expect nothing but absolute diligence and duty from you, if you are to redeem yourselves of whatever it is you have done.’

His wish never to have to see us again was tacit, but quite evident in his face: for a moment, anyway, for he then turned, and hurried back up to the fort, pulling his jacket tighter.

Oh!...

The East Empire Company!...

I had perhaps been listening too diligently for what lay beneath his speech, and not quite registered the pressing matters, for it was only as we were being led onwards, that I realised the true implications of my coming situation. The East Empire Company! – which, as I am sure you are aware, is but an arm of the omnipresent Empire, founded not so much for trade as for monopoly and consolidation of power. – I had also heard something about a mine, and ebony, and supposed that to be the occupation that I awaited. That of a miner! Oh! it did not sound pleasant, indeed it sounded dull, and strenuous, and excrutiating, and I did not want it at all...

There was scarcely any time to think, however, for the next part of our journey was upon us. There was beyond the ship, anchored to a jetty by the docks, a smaller boat, one that could hardly fit eight people: eight, counting the six of us prisoners, the skipper of the boat, and a man in Carnius’s employ. – The last was named Constans, or similar, or so he introduced us: and he was quite the pig-head, stubbornly loyal to the Company, and so disinclined to conversation with his lessers that he may as well not have been there. – Anyway, this boat would take us to Raven Rock, and that, I hoped, would be the last of my travels for a good long while.

It was already late in the afternoon, when we left Frostmoth: it was a good few hours later, and coming up to night, when the wooden beams of Raven Rock began to emerge from the growing snowfall. (The land had become more and more white, until there was nothing left of the optimistic greenery I had perceived, about the fort.) There were plumes of smoke twisting from the various chimneys, but, though they were speckled with quickly-extinguished cinders, they did little to shift the gloom. Certainly it was not much to look at, by night: and I was at once discouraged, I did not want to be here at all, especially not for the entirety of the foreseeable future. Divines! it was cold...

I had not before made any attempt at escape: I suppose because of the futility of it. Perhaps there would be chance later. It was dark now, and I did not know the place, and so I determined to survive the night here. That is, I did not resist, as I was led off the boat with the others. It would be useful, at least, to work out the lay of the land, the structure, and in the first place who was in charge.

The name Falco Galenus meant little to me yet, save that he was surely an Imperial, with that name, and, as I was becoming increasingly inclined to believe, all Imperials were bastards. Constans led the six of us up to one of the houses, a surprisingly pretty little affair, and knocked on the door.

The man who came to greet us, seeing us shivering in the snow, bade us enter, a more jovial request than any of us was expecting; we shuffled inside, and the man – the aforementioned Falco – exchanged a few words with Constans, before turning to us, and saying:

‘Well! – a fine welcome to all of you, and an apology that these are not the best circumstances in which we might have met. You may sit around the fire; there are not enough chairs, but the rug is comfortable enough. – And pray do,’ he continued, when we did not move: ‘you must be chilled to the bone. Constans, send for some dry clothes, would you?’

‘As you wish, sir,’ he replied, and left.

The six of us shuffled over and sat down, trying not to show a hint of the relief and the gratitude that we nonetheless felt. We had but changed prisons: if our warden chose to pretend to be nice, that was his affair, and it surely could not last.

But certainly Falco was an interesting man, in appearances at least. I watched him closely, as he strode across the room to stoke the fire, and took a seat himself (in the room’s only chair). At first he seemed rather as if he had been cast in the same mould as the Imperials of the Legion – which I had of course been expecting. But it did not take me long to divine in him something different, something quite striking: his more relaxed demeanour, his apparent good humour, and most especially the laughter-lines about his eyes. These crinkled, as he smiled round at us all, a genuine smile that despite my observations she hadn’t expected at all; then, when we were all as comfortable as we might be, in the circumstances, he spoke again:

‘I don’t know if you have been told who I am? – I am in charge at the site. I report to Carnius Magius – I understand you have met him?’ He left us space to respond to his questions, but we said nothing. ‘Anyway, you’ll be under my care. If there are problems, come to me. We shall allocate duties to-morrow. In the meantime – you had better all tell me your names.’

We were reluctant to break even this barrier, but our names came out, and Falco spent a good moment committing them all to memory. He seemed to quarrel with himself, for a moment, about what he might do next; perhaps he wanted to dissolve into ordinary conversation, try to make his wards more comfortable, save that he knew we were tired, that we didn't want to talk, that we were growing ever more awkward in his company.

‘Well!’ he said at last: ‘I know you don’t particularly want to be here. But I’ll do my best to keep it from being another prison. I doubt you care much for this little venture, but I want it to succeed, and if it is to succeed, then avoidable difficulties or hostility will not be of any use to us. I don’t want you to think I don’t care about you, the workers, as much as I do the project. – Ah!’ he said, suddenly, hearing footsteps outside: ‘that’ll no doubt be your dry things,’ and he went to the door, to find two Dunmer men holding a heap of clothing. ‘I had better show you where you will be sleeping and living. Follow me.’

* * *

We were all to live in the same building, one in the same style as Falco’s house, and not much bigger, with just enough room for the six beds and moderate hearth that it contained. I felt an immediate distaste, on discovering I would be sharing with all five of the men – even the ship, after all, had divided us between separate cabins – but for the moment, without knowing quite why, I was disinclined to say anything. If nothing else, I was too tired.

Falco spoke for a short while more, though I caught hardly any of what he said, and scarcely perceived his departure. I looked away as the men around me pulled off their cold damp clothes, and put on the dry ones that had been brought; I didn’t dare to undress, and lay down in what I was wearing. If I caught a cold, so be it. Perhaps it would give me an excuse to do less work.

The men did not look in my direction with leery optimism, or even by mistake: that, I supposed, was a relief. None of us had shown particular interest in any of the others, and nobody knew anyone else here. Despite the shared situation, this shared misfortune; despite our shared hardships, our shared class – we were too bewildered to speak, and too distrusting of all about us, to start any manner of conversation. I did not know if I wanted things ever to remain like this, whether I preferred being left entirely alone to cautious, fallible comradeship.

This was not the first day of our imprisonment, far from it. It had been a break in the monotony, certainly, and the start of something different, but I did not welcome the novelty. Rather, I watched the shadows, until the lights were snuffed out; I watched the darkness, lest it shift; and I listened, at the wall, as if I might catch a conversation, or footsteps, outside; as if I feared worse even than this, as if I feared being caught in a trap rather than a prison...

I am always quite astounded that I can remember anything at all of that day, for my memories are almost corrupted by my nocturnal vigil, the incessant thoughts which followed, the endless contemplation of the circumstance, and the constant wish to find some means of escape. My reasonable mind wanted me to settle down, for there was nothing I might do immediately; the rest of me, to my shame, countered this reason, and I was not allowed a moment of rest. – And so, when morning dawned, and when I heard the miners outside already up; when I saw my fellows about me; when I heard voices, and perceived Falco at the doorway, entering to give instructions – my night had been so bizarre and unpleasant, in short, that morning came only as a relief, despite everything, and I was filled with strange curiosity for what the first day held in store, and how Raven Rock looked in the light; and such a taste for fresh air that I of all of us was the first to rise, and bafflingly eager to start whatever it was that had been set in motion.


End file.
